


The truth in crimson mud

by Scrapeourshoesonthestars



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, But Mostly Hurt, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drug Withdrawal, Drugged Sex, Fuck Or Die, Guilt, HYDRA Trash Party, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sex Pollen, Starvation, Therapy, Violence, Vomiting, Whump, both steve and bucky are victims here, more comfort in chapter 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 17:18:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21274853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrapeourshoesonthestars/pseuds/Scrapeourshoesonthestars
Summary: Steve and Bucky get captured by Hydra during a mission, are beaten, starved and tortured. Then they pull out an old technique that Bucky only wishes he didn't remember from his first time in the hands of these bastards. Steve learns some more about Bucky's Hydra days the hard way.Or Hydra inject bucky with something that makes him do unspeakable things to Steve and much angst ensues.





	The truth in crimson mud

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the tags!!! This fic is rough af. All the harsh warnings are for chapter 1. There is no rape in chapter 2 but there will still be references to what happened and the resulting effects of the trauma they went through. Do not read this fic if you are not okay with what is detailed in the tags.
> 
> This is my entry for the [2019 Stucky big bang.](https://stuckybangs.tumblr.com/) I got to work with the lovely [Buckybleeds](https://buckybleeds.tumblr.com/) who has provided the artwork for this work

Steve doesn’t know when he went down. The last thing he remembers is turning to check that Bucky was still with him before a loud sound made him feel on the cusp of blowing out his ear drums, dropping him to his knees in seconds and then...black.  
  
His eyes are covered. Without sight, he hones in his other senses instead. He is gagged, the material leeching all moisture from his mouth. He tenses but his arms, legs and chest are strapped down painfully tight to whatever they have him sitting on. Breathing in deep catches him multiple smells. Soil, very old, damp but not fresh cement, the sweat of multiple men, leather boots, gun oil, _blood._ Hydra. It’s an obvious choice but honestly, at this point they have a track record. They’re down in some old underground Hydra base and fuck, it’s probably not one they are aware of yet. He’s certain the others will be looking for him but it could be a while. He has to assume he’s on his own for now.  
  
He’s being moved, he can feel the wheels against the rough ground beneath him, can hear the thump of rubber boot soles hitting the ground rhythmically, accompanying him, maybe three or four people, heavy steps. Men. The moment the movement ceases, he barely has a second to register it before a hard thunk to the side of his head takes out his hearing in that ear, a second hit blasts across his kneecap and he cries out from behind the gag. An intense electric bolt to the centre of his chest leaves him spasming, not quite long enough to stop him registering a strike across his hand that takes out his knuckles with a cringe worthy crack.  
  
He loses count of how many times they beat him but by the time they pause, his broken nose can barely draw him in any air and even if it could, his cracked ribs hurt too much to take in full breaths anyway. His crushed knee leaves his leg twisting awkwardly, his one eyebrow is split and bleeding, heavy and sticky down the side of his face. With his accelerated healing, it will swell enough that he doubts he’d be able to see through that eye, even without the blindfold.  
  
Then nothing.  
  
He can’t calculate how long he’s left but his ribs and knee nit themselves back together, his hand is stiff agony but he can curl it into a fist and his eyebrow is a scabbed mark above his eye. The bridge of his nose is too out of joint to heal and he remains, struggling to breathe between the whistling nostrils and the small amount of air he can suck in through the gaps of the soaked gag in his mouth.  
  
Then they return and do it to him all over again.  
  
This goes on for hours, maybe longer, enough that he gets hungry. _So hungry._ His bladder fills until he’s doubling forward trying to ease the pressure without losing control. Someone enters the room at one point and Steve jerks to the feel of rough hands at the fastenings of his uniform. They tug him out indelicately and Steve’s cheeks shouldn’t burn at the fact but they do anyway. He feels the rim of the bucket against the side of his cock and knows exactly what’s expected of him. As the sound of the fluid hitting the back of the bucket fills the room, he wonders if it wouldn’t be less humiliating to have left him to piss himself.  
  
Sound returns to both ears. It rings but he can pick up details from whatever few rooms are around him. This is definitely Hydra and word is being passed through that they’ve _captured Captain America._ He can hear the uniquely distinctive sound of Bucky’s laboured breathing as it approaches and his heart drops to know they got him, too.  
  
Footsteps and then a piercing bright light as the blindfold and gag are ripped from his face. Steve grimaces and squints, trying to force his eyes to grow accustomed to the light faster. He can’t see a single thing behind the brightness but when he rolls his head to the side, he finally catches sight of Bucky, hunched forward in his own chair, saliva thinned blood dripping steadily from his mouth onto his lap, the red patch gradually seeping across the one thigh of his uniform.  
  
He tenses in his restraints again, the leather creaking as it strains against the pressure. “Buck-”  
  
Material is forced over his nose and mouth by a strong pressure and he breathes before he has chance to think and jolts his head in an instinctual panicked attempt to throw it off. Pain flares across the bridge of his nose as they disrupt the break with their movements. He can smell the Chloroform instantly, it stings his eyes and nose, the back of his throat, thoroughly soaked into the material to knock him out. With his system, it won’t be enough to work. But they already know that. It still works to their benefit and he feels his head get light and dizzy, his eyes roll and he sags in his restraints. He tries to focus his eyes over to Bucky. They don’t use the Choloform on him but he’s making no attempts to struggle. His head is still tilted down but his eyes are pinned solely on something Steve can’t see, something behind the light. He looks careful and scared, his flesh hand trembling under the leather straps.  
  
“What do you want?” Steve slurs out weaker than he’d intended, the drug making his tongue feel like lead. He doesn’t get a response but his ears register a hard thud and a whimper and he looks, lagging but just in time to see Bucky doubling forward, teeth grit and hands clamping on the arms of the chair. “Goddamnit, stop.”  
  
The thud comes again, except this time the sound is sourced from the place between his own neck and shoulder as the strike sends his head spinning in a different way to the drug.  
  
“You give no orders here, _Captain._” Comes a voice from behind the light and another thud drags a cry from Bucky’s throat. Steve strains against his bonds again but his muscles won’t conform to his attempts. The agent who spoke comes closer to him. “Sounds painful,” he says, referring to Steve’s busted, whistling nose. A hand reaches out and, despite Steve’s efforts to turn away, fingers clamp onto the bridge of his nose and turn swiftly. A sharp cringe-worthy snapping sound rings out, followed by a cry through gritted teeth and Steve turns his face down just as blood pours from his nose over his lips and drips lightly from his chin, some running along his jaw and towards his neck, sticky and hot. A laugh. “You’ll need that later.”  
  
A whimper and Steve looks back to Bucky to see another one of the agents tugging his hair back to make Bucky face him, Steve can see that the dripping blood is coming from Bucky’s nose and mouth, his grimacing teeth lined in deep red. The guy pulls Bucky’s face in against his crotch, presses him against it with a laugh. “Remember this? Yeah he does.” He grabs himself through his pants. “Might have to let him get reacquainted later, hm?”  
  
Steve hears another agent that he can’t see. “Knock it off, we got a job to do.” Bucky tries to turn his face so his nose isn’t shoved so hard into the guy but he doesn’t struggle much more than that. There’s something so subdued about him, resigned, like he’s already given up. Steve can’t stand seeing him like that.  
  
“You’ve got me, just leave him alone. You’ve taken enough from him.”  
  
“What makes you think he’s not the key to this entire thing?” The agent holding Bucky’s face against his crotch laughs, tilting Bucky’s face up to stroke and coo at him humiliatingly.  
  
“What are you talking about?” Steve demands. The agent doesn’t look away from Bucky to reply to him.  
  
“Who do you think _lead you here?_”  
  
“You’re lying.”  
  
“Am I? The Soldier’s most intimate mission yet. Infiltrate S.H.I.E.L.D via its most vulnerable point. Convince Captain America that he’s still his old dear, sweet Bucky Barnes and he will walk with him willingly to our doors. And here you are.”  
  
“Bullshit.” There’s no way it can be true. Bucky has been living with him for ages now, he’s remembering things, things he wouldn’t remember if he were just the Soldier faking it for a mission. No, no he trusts Bucky, he _knows_ Bucky.  
  
The agent laughs. “You might have triggered the Soldier’s failsafe but wait until we have both the Winter Soldier and Captain America answering to Hydra’s orders.”  
  
“I’ll die before I take orders from you,” Steve says, no ounce of doubt in his voice.  
  
“Your guy said the same thing too, once.” The agent says, hooking a curled finger underneath Bucky’s chin and thumbing at his lips almost affectionately. “Everyone does but give it time. Takes less to break down a spirit than you think, just ask your boy, here.”  
  
Bucky closes his eyes but doesn’t otherwise move away from the man’s touch, the bright light highlighting the shame-filled tears that make his dewy eyes glisten.  
  
“You think you won him back? There is no _him_ to bring back. He is Hydra’s tool, a weapon walking around wearing the body of your dead friend.”  
  
Steve doesn’t speak. This is what they want, to get to him, make him mad, watch him crack. He doesn’t open his mouth but if he could harness a fraction of his own emotions into existence with one look, that man would already be strung up by his toes, throat slit and left to bleed out like the pig he is.  
  
“Makes no difference if you believe me, we have our orders.”  
  
The agent nods to someone Steve can’t see and the sound of doors opening echoes in the room again.  
  
“Your guy will remember this one,” the agent says, the grin evident in his voice. He’s having fun with this. “Helped him perform his duties when he couldn’t get there on his own.”  
  
Steve dares a glimpse at Bucky but he’s still not doing anything more than holding eerily still under the agent’s touch.  
  
The sound of the doors signals the other agents return and although Steve can’t see this guy past the light, he immediately knows that Bucky can because it’s the first time Bucky has really responded to anything since they were brought in here. Steve watches his eyes go wide and he goes rigid in his restraints.  
  
“No,” Bucky says in a small, pleading voice. “No, please, _please._”  
  
“See, he does remember,” the agent says gleefully, gesturing the returned agent over to where Bucky is now struggling in his bonds, still gasping and pleading.  
  
“What is it, what’s happening?” Steve demands, craning his neck to try and see anything more. The other agent comes into view when he approaches Bucky. “Bucky?”  
  
“Please don’t do this!” Bucky thrashes but the bonds hold him strong. “Steve, Steve!”  
  
“Don’t touch him!” Steve yells in panic as they prepare Bucky’s flesh arm and ready the needle, Bucky unable to break free or do anything to stop their progress. Steve struggles in his own bonds but it’s no use. The Chloroform is working its way out of his system but his muscles are still flagging, like his body just doesn’t want to give up the strength. The time without food, water and sleep don’t help and he can only look on in fear as the agent turns the needle downwards and carefully but swiftly sinks it into Bucky’s straining arm. Bucky’s eyes widen impossibly, still struggling as the needle is removed.

  
  
“Steve, m’sorry, m’so sorry,” Bucky grits before his eyes kind of glaze over and he stops struggling, muscles relaxing against the restraints, ceasing his pleas and panicked whimpers.  
  
“Bucky! What did you do to him?” Over the next couple of confused minutes, Steve watches as Bucky’s relaxed state slowly turns into something else. His breathing becomes deep and laboured, chest heaving, nostrils flaring, eyes pinning up onto the agent with the most intense stare. This time, when he pushes against his restraints, it’s not a fearfulness in his desire to get out of the bonds, it’s an eagerness that displays something entirely different to Steve.  
  
“Another of Zola’s experiments,” the agent tells him impressively. “An old attempt on recreating the serum that went drastically wrong. Until we found a better use for it.” He gestures to Bucky. “This one proved _particularly_ compatible with its effects.”  
  
He laughs as Steve’s eyes trail down to Bucky’s lap and god, he wishes he hadn’t seen it but there’s no mistaking the ‘effects’ the agent is referring to when Steve can see it so clearly bulging up against the pants of Bucky’s uniform. _What the fuck._  
  
“He’s really something, isn’t he?” The agent coos, stroking Bucky’s face, down his neck and too his chest, eyes on Steve when he thumbs at Bucky’s nipples through his uniform. Even what light friction that must be giving him is enough to have Bucky pushing forward into the touch, hypnotised between whatever the drug is doing to him and the actions of the agent standing over him. Steve watches Bucky’s grip curling and uncurling around the edges of the arms of the seat, can only stare as Bucky pushes his hips up as if trying to get the agent to pay attention to that. The soft needy mewl that breaks past his lips sends an awful shiver down Steve’s spine. _What the fuck has this drug done to him._  
  
Another round of the Chloroform soaked material has Steve struggling to keep his eyes on any one place, unable to coordinate his limbs into action as the first agent steps closer to him and he feels the bonds on him loosen.  
  
“We will break you in time, Captain,” he whispers into Steve’s ear. “You’re only gonna wish you’d given in to us sooner.”  
  
Before Steve can respond, an agent in the doorway calls for this guy to get a move on and he retreats just as another one loosens Bucky’s restraints and quickly backs away.  
  
Steve leans forward, the bonds sliding from his body as he moves. His head spins hard and he drops to his knees the moment his weight slides from the chair, dizzy and nauseous. He might’ve been sick if his stomach wasn’t empty. The echo of the thick steel doors tell him they’re alone. “Bucky?” He cranes his neck at just enough of an angle to catch Bucky rising to his feet. The blood that was dripping from his face earlier has turned tacky and clings to his face, his hair hanging forward, messy and a little matted. There’s something almost animal in the brief moment that he stands still, dark eyes trailing over Steve, chest heaving, hands in tight grips at his sides, thighs tensed for action. He looks really quite frightening. The bulge in his trousers has not flagged even a fraction and Steve’s chest floods with a sense of sheer dread, guessing exactly what’s coming from Bucky’s earlier behaviour. “Bucky-”  
  
Bucky’s boots thunk heavily on the ground as he marches forward and Steve, brain lagging once again, has to throw himself to the side to dodge the approach. He stumbles in his attempts to get to his feet, bashing into the excessively bright light and sending both that and its stand scattering across the room with a loud, disorientating crash and making everything cast eerie shadows across the floor and walls. Steve staggers against the nearest wall, using it to shove himself forward, still trying to avoid Bucky’s attempts to reach him but it only takes seconds for a rough hand to snag his shoulder and send him scrambling to remain on his feet.  
  
“Bucky, come on we’ve done this before, you _know_ me. You don’t wanna do this.”  
  
Bucky shows no sign of registering his words, not the slightest hint that he recognises him at all. He storms forward again and while Steve blocks the punch, it still knocks him to one knee for a moment. It doesn’t go amiss that the punch came from Bucky’s flesh hand. In his state, Steve doesn’t have the wariness to take on the metal arm. And now Bucky knows this, too. Engaging is not going to work for him, here. Dodging is his only option. If he can find some way to get Bucky to hit his head, maybe it can knock him out of this. It feels like a feeble guess, this is the result of a direct substance, whatever shit they pumped him with, this isn’t mental.  
  
“Please, Buck. If you can hear me in there at all, I need your help. You gotta stop this. Bucky!” Steve narrowly misses another swipe, he tries to force his eyes to meet Bucky’s but focussing is a task he doesn’t have time for when he clocks a flash of the metal fist and tries to twist his head out of its path. It catches him in the jaw and he lets out an involuntary sound as his head snaps sharply to the side and then Bucky has him, hand around his neck, he surges Steve backwards until his back slams into the far wall. He shouts with the force, the pain that reverberates along his spine and neck, sending blinding pain up behind his eyes.  
  
He can’t fight back, despite his attempts. His muscles are like jelly and all he can do is try to weakly block every hit and swipe, try to wriggle his way between Bucky and the wall. This close, Steve can feel Bucky’s harsh, hot breaths hit his face. It’s easier to meet his eyes. His pupils are _huge._

  
“Jesus, Buck. What is this? What did they give you?” Steve doesn’t expect to get an answer but his heart jumps when Bucky pushes himself forward suddenly and Steve can’t even pretend not to notice the hard lump jutting against his hip. “Bucky...”  
  
“Stop moving.” Bucky’s voice is cold, hard and warning. It barely even sounds like him but it’s enough that Steve wishes it were more, that he couldn’t connect a single moment of the rapidly unfolding events to Bucky.  
  
Hands on his shoulders force Steve to his knees and he tries to fight it, tries to throw Bucky off him, _begs_ him not to but the metal fist finds his throat and cuts his air until it feels like his head is going to explode and when he loosens the grip just enough to keep him on the edge of passing out without tipping over, Steve can only sag towards Bucky while he chokes and gasps what pathetic amount of air he can get into his lungs which constrict and spasm rapidly, desperate for oxygen. His heart slams into his chest so hard it hurts, makes him fear it’s going to give out on him. He hasn’t felt this weak and defenceless in a long time, in the days when he was so sick, body wracked with fever, throat and lungs raw with the fight against his asthma. He promised himself, as his body grew accustomed to the serum, that he would never allow himself to feel that way ever again. And here he is, helpless and in pain, weak and _scared._  
  
The sound of material brings his thoughts back to the present, only to make him wish they hadn’t. Keeping Steve held firmly in place against the wall with his metal hand, Bucky uses his right to work his cock, which has remained determinedly hard since they injected him with that stuff, out from the confines of his uniform.  
  
“Buck,” Steve says carefully, trying to speak past tremble starting in his voice. “Think about what you’re doing. They’ve done something to you. This isn’t who you are. Bucky-”  
  
His head is shoved back against the wall, trapping him while the thick head of Bucky’s cock is pressed to his mouth, forced past his lips until he relinquishes and lets him in, not wanting to hurt Bucky for whenever this damn drug finally wears off. If this were anyone else, that cock would no longer be attached to its owner but even with what’s happening, what’s being done to him, Steve can’t hurt him.  
  
Steve got Bucky back after discovering he was still alive, and despite both of them agreeing to pursue their original feelings, born in a time of rations and war, so far they have yet to let that relationship become physical. There were too many things that Bucky wanted to figure out for himself, first, a lot of things that both of them had to work out but they’ve been making progress. Steady and careful, they have worked their way up to a point where Steve could feel the edge approaching, could sense that they would sometime soon be reaching the topic of taking that step into the physical. It would have been their own choice, their own pace, something they only walked into together when they were ready.  
  
And this just took it all away from them.  
  
Bucky, who’s been so reserved, so timid and unsure, so gradually coming out of himself in the most delicate, patient process that Steve has ever found himself in, is now situating himself, coldly, unemotionally, indelicately, as deep as he can get into Steve’s throat.  
  
Steve tries to focus on breathing. His throat has taken a beating as it is but this only makes it worse. This makes him gag unrelentingly. As he huffs as best he can through his nose, he suddenly realises what the agent had meant earlier, “you’ll need that later,” and he feels sick. His throat works around the cock being stuffed down it, his chest heaves and he knows this isn’t going to be pretty.  
  
What really gets him is the sounds that these actions are drawing from Bucky. The deep, guttural, pleasured grunts, sounds that Steve has never heard from him before, that are not as he remembers them, that he shouldn’t be hearing like this. He’s supposed to be the cause of those sounds, through his efforts because he _wants_ to give Bucky a reason to make those sounds. Here he’s just the empty vessel that Bucky unwillingly takes his own pleasure from. Everything about this is wrong.  
  
The continuous gagging finally catches his stomach and it lurches awfully, the saliva building in his mouth starting to take on a bitter tang, his throat burning as he tries and fails to swallow any of it back down. Bucky isn’t looking at him, he’s got his head thrown back and Steve knows this isn’t about hurting him, it’s the drug, it’s all the drug. Bucky is as helpless as he is. Steve’s pain and fear are a result, not a goal and he tries hard to remember that when he gags again and searing bile floods into his mouth, making tears spill over and down his cheeks. He tries to cough but Bucky forces himself in farther with a dark groan. The drug must numb any disgust that Bucky should feel about what’s happening. There’s no way he could find pleasure in this otherwise. No way.  
  
At the risk of choking, Steve is left with no choice but to try and force the saliva and bile out through any gaps he gets between Bucky’s thrusts into his mouth. It runs thick and hot down his chin, and slowly starts to drip down into his lap and the floor in globs that makes his face burn to think of what a picture he must make like this.  
  
The intrusion on his throat is gone all too suddenly and he gasps in a huge rush of air, leans forward and tries to spit but he’s already being manhandled face down to the ground, one arm twisted agonisingly behind his back to hold him in place while he feels the other hand yanking roughly at his uniform. The sound of tearing and his trousers give enough for Bucky to drag them down off his hips and along his thighs, cool air reaching bared skin that should not be able to feel this right now. Steve bucks, tries to throw his leg out, anything to knock Bucky off balance as the weight of him increases over Steve.  
  
His leg catches Bucky somewhere awkward enough to make him grunt and stutter his movements and Steve thrashes in a desperate attempt, a last burst of energy fuelled by an intense need to stop Bucky from going any further, knowing just how much more awful this will all be when Bucky comes around from the drug to see what he’s done. That thought alone, of seeing Bucky’s face as he realises what he’s done, that scares Steve more than anything that’s happened to him yet.  
  
Bucky’s balance staggers and Steve tries to crawl forward enough, still rocking, to get from underneath Bucky and gain any kind of leverage. If he can just get from under him, he can focus on dodging him and keeping him away until the drug wears off, he knows he can do it, he’ll work harder this time, he won’t let himself get snagged, he-  
  
Steve barely has time to hiss at the feeling of a fist curling tightly into his hair before his face is being slammed repeatedly into the concrete below him until his eyes are rolling in their sockets and his vision is only a mess of cement grey and an awful dark, wet red as his nose explodes with blood once again, his lip splits and multiple teeth go loose in his gums. Steve stills completely, too dazed and in pain to dare to keep struggling.  
  
“I said stop moving,” Bucky says, voice void of any emotion. He doesn’t even sound frustrated by Steve’s attempts to get away. His demands are merely a means towards his intention.  
  
Steve doesn’t move as his trousers are shucked further down his legs so Bucky is able to slide his knee between them and force them further apart. He only lays trembling as the weight moves over his back again, tries to muffle his sob into the dusty ground as he feels himself finally being breached and all Steve can think is that it hurts, god it fucking _hurts._ He instinctively pushes his hips forward, trying to shift away from the pain but all it does is tighten his muscles around Bucky’s cock and results in him groaning hard and pushing harder into it. Steve let’s out a cry of pain and lays his face back down to the ground, fully giving up the idea of getting away from this happening. He feels the tug of Bucky dragging his cock back out and the sharp piercing sting when he humps back up into him and sets himself an indulgent rhythm.  
  
He thought he’d become less present. He’s seen movies and shows, the way the victim often zones out as an escape to what’s being done to them. He thought he’d do the same but he’s so utterly present, it’s unbearable. Every last drag of skin on skin, every ache in his beaten muscles with each new thrust, it lights up his skin in the worst possible way. He doesn’t want to feel this. He doesn’t want to be aware.  
  
The sounds Bucky is making just cut into Steve, get right under his skin and burn him from the inside out. He’s so thoroughly lost in what he’s doing, like Steve isn’t even Steve to him anymore, he’s just pure sensation and Bucky is gone on it, gyrating his hips hard against him over and over, grinding as deep inside him as he can get, chasing pleasure the only thing in his mind.  
  
Steve feels the rhythm pick up speed and while it increases the pain, it doesn’t come without a helpless glimmer of hope that this is nearing the end. He’s almost certain he’s bleeding, is sure he can feel the blood making Bucky’s thrusts chaff just that extra bit as he takes him. There’s been a low pressure warming up inside him, spreading through his hips and into his groin since Bucky really started moving inside him and his own cock has been responding to it for a while now, leaving him uncomfortably hard, cock trapped between his body and the ground. He doesn’t want to cum, nothing would be more humiliating a betrayal from his own body but the pressure gets increasingly intense until he’s shuddering, hands scrambling at the ground as if he’d even have anywhere to go should he manage to get away from the violent intrusion.  
  
Bucky’s hips stutter and then still before Steve’s body is able to tip over and the relief alone makes the tears spill from his eyes. Behind him, Bucky’s moans taper off and he sinks forwards with a sigh, forehead coming to rest in the centre of Steve’s shoulder blades while he rotates his hips in the last of the afterglow. Steve bites his lip and holds stock still. He has no idea what’s going to happen next. Will Bucky stop here, is it done? Will the need come back when Bucky recovers? Steve’s heart stutters with the dread. He knows how the serum affected _his_ recovery time and if it’s the same for Bucky, he doesn’t know how he’s going to get through another round of this right now.  
  
Steve feels Bucky shift, wilting cock slipping out of him with the movement, a trail of slick wetness follows that makes Steve’s stomach turn and then the weight is gone, closely followed by heavy footsteps as Bucky moves away. He can’t bring himself to follow the movements, to scared of facing Bucky with the drug still in his system. He feels sticky, sullied and _used._  
  
He startles when his mind catches up to Bucky’s return, tries to flinch away from rough hands tugging at his trousers again, moans out a pathetic plea of “no,” and tenses up in anticipation of a second breach but it doesn’t come. The material, while ripped and unable to be fastened now, is pulled to cover his bared skin and he can only whimper as he’s hoisted up by his arms and dragged over to the nearest wall, which Bucky uses to prop him against before retreating again. Steve watches him pace the room like an agitated lion in too small a cage. He wants to speak but the idea of getting Bucky’s attention on him again, when he doesn’t know where Bucky’s mind is, it sparks up an unwelcome but unavoidable fear that keeps his mouth warily shut.  
  
At some point later, Bucky’s hands slide up into his hair to clasp at his own head, back hunched forward as though he’s in pain and Steve wonders if the drug is finally wearing off.  
  
“Bucky?” Steve murmurs testily. He tries not to shift too much against the wall. He’s uncomfortable, he aches, stings but every movement is magnified by the tacky wet that’s trying to dry between his legs and that’s more unbearable than the pain. The skin of his face feels stiff and stale from where the blood and trail of bile has glued itself across his lips and jaw, too dry to rub off with the sleeve of his uniform despite brief efforts.  
  
“Steve,” Bucky whispers. He turns as though to try and look at him but bails before their eyes can meet and then Bucky is clasping his own head again. “Oh God.”  
  
“You coming back?”  
  
“Fuck, Steve.” Bucky returns to pacing, far more agitated and fidgety this time, clawing at his head.  
  
“Take it easy, Buck,” Steve says, willing himself to try and move. He winces in disgust at the sensation when he shifts forwards onto his knees and of course Bucky turns and catches the momentary facial expression before he can mask it.  
  
“Fuck, how bad did I...” Bucky trails off and takes a few steps closer to Steve, absolutely not missing Steve’s small, unintended flinch before he even gets close enough to touch him. “How bad?”  
  
“I’m fine,” Steve tries but one look from Bucky calls bullshit immediately. “I’ll heal.”  
  
The lights snap off and they’re plunged into darkness. It only takes seconds to adjust enough to make out a general idea of where Bucky is, especially since he barely moves for the first few seconds. Then the sound of metal scraping when he places the arm to the wall and uses it to guide him around the room until he reaches Steve, who holds stock still, waiting to find out what Bucky is doing.  
  
“I’m just gonna sit by, you, alright?”  
  
Steve hates that Bucky feels he needs to be cautious not to spook him. He hates that it _is_ necessary because it’s only after the reassurance that he can allow the muscles in his back and shoulders to let up even a fraction.  
  
Bucky’s weight settles gently next to him, his shoulder presses against his own and Steve leans into it. “Steve, I...”  
  
Bucky trails off but Steve knows what he’s going to say. “Wasn’t you, Buck. It was them.”  
  
It’s clear that Bucky has faced this drug before, he recognised it almost immediately. It makes Steve wonder how many times Bucky had existed in moments like this, stuck alone to feel the guilt of what he’d just done eating away at him with no one to tell him it wasn’t his fault. It’s the only time Steve has ever hoped, even for a second that maybe they just wiped him straight after these things, so at least Bucky never had to feel that.  
  
Steve settles harder against Bucky. They’re going to have to figure out a way out of this. “What do we do, Buck?” He mumbles into Bucky’s neck because he knows ignoring it isn’t going to save them.  
  
We’ll figure something out,” Bucky says firmly. “M’not gonna let them make me do that to you again.”  
  
Steve’s not sure he really believes that and he’s not sure Bucky does either but he doesn’t voice it.  
  
...  
  
Steve hadn’t realised he’d drifted off until a shifting weight brings him around again. He groans as the movement ignites a harsh thunder in his head and he hopes it numbs itself soon since it’s unlikely they will give him water during all of this. Or food, his stomach tells him as if on cue, a rumble tearing through his stomach. He’s taken tighter into the arms around him as Bucky settles by curling in on him and Steve wants to press closer, tuck himself harder against him and not let the realisation of where they are come flooding back to him as fast as it is.  
  
The return of the light has them both flinching to shield their eyes from it and then a deafening metal sound as the door is opened to the return of a few men and the agent that snapped Steve’s nose back into place. Bucky gets to his feet and rounds in their direction, putting himself between them and Steve. Steve rises to his feet, dizzy, groggy and tense, stiff and sore but well on his way to healing.  
  
The agent takes one glance around the room. “You two’ve been busy.” The other agents snicker and grin in their direction. Bucky’s hands curls into tight fists.  
  
Bucky’s thighs tense when an agent enters with another needle in hand. He moves to strike the first guy that approaches him, his fist almost connecting with the agent but two other men leap into place to tackle him. He lays a square punch in the centre of one guy’s chest and sends him flying back into the wall and dropping to choke on his own breath, Bucky having no doubt crushed a few of his ribs. He head butts the second guy, splitting his brow and knocking him clean out but other agents get him to his knees with a stun baton to the stomach that leaves him spasming in agony.  
  
“Bucky!” Steve has lurched forwards too but they restrain Bucky and aim the baton sinisterly, switching it on to let out a threatening crackle. The agent glares at Steve.  
  
“Move and he gets the next one in the neck,” He warns Steve, gesturing for another guy to tend to the two injured agents on the floor and moving close to Bucky. He crouches down to level him. “Did you have fun?” The agent pushes the baton into one of Bucky’s pecks and turns it on. Bucky writhes, a strained yell ripping from his throat. “You can put all that extra energy to better use, soldier.”  
  
The moment the needle comes back into Bucky’s vision, he’s thrashing violently, the whites of his eyes only revealing his terror. Steve’s heart drops into his stomach when this earns him another jab to the ribs with the baton.  
  
“Stop!” Steve yells. Trying to get at him leads to another threat with the baton and a hard shove to the shoulders from another agent. “You have me goddamnit, just let him go.”  
  
“But he just loves this so much,” the agent, who’d been pushing Bucky’s face into his crotch last time, pipes up again, reaching under Bucky’s arms to hold him in place while he struggles to keep the others from injecting him. He fakes innocent surprise when he knows he has Steve’s attention with that. “Oh what, he hasn’t told you? He used to get so needy for this, we’d find him waiting at the door for his next dose. He wanted it so bad. Sometimes, he’d be all hard and worked up before we’d even given it to him.”  
  
“Will you can it and hold him still so we can get outta here?” The agent with the syringe snaps. The other one scoffs and leans back, tugging Bucky’s arms harder so he’s forced back in a more restricting arch but he doesn’t shut his mouth.  
  
“He won’t admit it,” he continues, turning his head so each word is breathed out against Bucky’s ear and Steve can see how it makes him try to cringe away, to shrink in on himself more and kick his legs harder to keep the others away. “But he doesn’t have to. See for yourself, he’s already hard, they ain’t even stuck him yet.”  
  
Steve grits his teeth so hard his jaw cracks but it doesn’t matter how angry the agents words make him, he can see that Bucky is hard now. He wasn’t before, that fact has changed between the agents arriving and now.  
  
Another agent joins in the efforts and moves to cease Bucky’s kicking legs.  
  
“No no no no no,” Bucky pleads as the men manage to pin his thighs firm enough to get him still and depositing the drug into his arm, keeping their weight on him until he falls limp again. They release their hold of him, Bucky staying on the ground as they retreat despite Steve’s pleas to release him. The booming sound of the door being resealed is damning.  
  
Bucky groans and rolls over heavily onto his front, slow but deliberate. Steve backs up again without really thinking about it.  
  
“Come on, Buck, you can...” He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence. If Bucky could fight this, he’d have done it the first time around, Steve knows that. Bucky gets to his feet and rounds on him while palming himself, roughly. Steve’s eyes drop automatically and yes, Bucky is undeniably hard once again. “We can-I can do something else, I can use my hands or something, it doesn’t have to be like before, Buck please.”  
  
It gets him nowhere, not that he really believed it would. Bucky seems to be incapable of communication like this, at least, anything outside of telling him not to struggle. He wonders if there would be any recognition in Bucky’s eyes but he can’t bring himself to look, the idea of finding that dead stare of the Winter Soldier in them scares him too much.  
  
When Bucky gets at him, he doesn’t fight him, he only tries to block the more violent grasps and shoves that come his way.  
  
“Take it easy, Buck, I’m tryin’a work with you,” He pleads with him but as he’s flipped round and pressed face first into the wall, he realises that the violence in Bucky’s touch isn’t that exactly, it’s impatience, it’s desperation. He _needs_ this, the drug has made it that way. A firm kick to the back of his knee forces him down to the ground again and tears spring to his eyes that have nothing to do with pain or fear. “Alright, pal, I’m not fighting you, jus-just _try_ and go easy, okay?”  
  
Bucky takes him harder than the first time. Steve’s able to avoid the pounding to his throat with his compliance but he pays for it dearly. He can feel it in Bucky’s hurried thrusts, hear it in each heavy, exerted groan, he has one mission. When Bucky finally completes it, stuttering heavily into his climax, Steve is wiping at his eyes so that Bucky won’t see the tears with a clearer mind. Steve can’t let his weakness be the thing that breaks him down.  
  
It becomes a pattern. They drug Bucky. Bucky becomes rampant and fucks him against the nearest surface. The drug wears off slowly and during that time, Bucky comes back to him, roughly helps him cover himself and pushes him into a more comfortable position before walking away again. Ahis caretaking isn’t gentle, an agitation remains in his movements at first, as if the drug hasn’t quite left his system and it’s enough to keep him from hurting Steve but not enough to allow him the care he’d usually put into it. He comes and goes a few times, checking Steve’s okay and doing the little bits he can to clean him off, his touches growing softer until the last time he returns, where he sits with a sigh and pulls Steve against him and Steve lets him, leans his head into his shoulder while Bucky strokes his hair and face, the touches comforting him until the next time the agents return with another dose and the cycle repeats.  
  
They try to escape multiple times. Steve manages to pick up enough tells that they can pinpoint when the doors are about to be opened. They’ve waited either side of the doors to catch them as off guard as they can but neither of them, Steve especially are at their usual strength and a few well placed shots with the stun baton subdues them much easier than they should. That doesn’t stop them trying though, doesn’t stop Steve hoping, no, what finally numbs his efforts is the day they chain both of them up and inject Bucky with the drug so Steve can watch him suffer with the desperation to get at him, with the promise to do this every time they make any attempt to escape.  
  
And oh does Bucky suffer.  
  
Any slight potential belief that Steve could have had left that Bucky has any control over the drug is destroyed within minutes of watching him like this. Steve calls to him, begs him to calm down but Bucky is deaf to his words, only struggles harder and harder to break through his restraints until his wrist and ankles are bleeding with the force, the skin torn and red raw. When he finally does fall slack in the shackles, the sweat is running from him, his hair soaked with it. His breathes come out in uncomfortable heaving rasps and while his eyes remain hungrily on Steve, he is still completely unresponsive to Steve’s attempts to communicate.  
  
Steve doesn’t know how this drug works at all but he figures that being able to satisfy the urges it induces _must_ help it to wear off faster. It has to because Bucky remains stuck like this for far longer than he’s ever taken to fuck Steve. For ages, Bucky is left whining miserably, cock remaining stubbornly hard and straining in his uniform pants, the weak thrusts he doesn’t appear to know he’s making don’t seem to do anything to ease his agony in any way. Steve wants nothing more in this moment than to get to him, to try and comfort him or ease it for him somehow.  
  
Steve has almost passed out in his own restraints when the sound of small movement drags him back to this fucking room again.  
  
“S-Steve.” Steve’s head snaps up. Bucky’s starting to stir, the grooves of where metal has dug into his flesh from his weight leaning on it for so long are deep and angry looking and Bucky winces as he tries to straighten up his posture.  
  
“Steady,” Steve murmurs, mouth and throat like sand. “Easy, Buck.”  
  
“Steve,” Bucky repeats. “Hurts.”  
  
He’s not sure specifically what Bucky is referring to but the list of possibilities that flood his mind only burn him up inside.  
  
“I know, pal.”  
  
...

  
  
When the agents return, they don’t inject Bucky again, they simply release him and Steve from the restraints and leave, the light going out and throwing them into the dark once again. There’s no sound of movement from where Bucky slunk like a deadweight to the ground in an exhausted heap so Steve gathers up every ounce of energy he can muster to crawl over to him and hold him. He doesn’t mention the small sobs that Bucky can’t keep silent.  
  
Steve would never be foolish enough to believe that they’re done dosing Bucky up on that drug after this and he’s right. All concept of time left him a while ago but it really doesn’t feel that long before agents are funnelling through the doors, ready to pin him down and inject him again. They have to drag Steve off of him but Bucky can barely move to even fight them. He whimpers when they shift him into an easier position and pleads with them quietly, not the slightest faith that they would stop, evident in his voice. What really gets Steve is that even in this state of lifeless energy, Bucky is still hard by the time they roll him over get better access to his arm.  
  
Even with the energy boost the drug seems to give him, Bucky struggles to get to his feet before heading towards Steve, heaving and holding himself not unlike a wounded animal. Steve thinks he might actually be able to keep Bucky at bay this time, injured and weakened as he is. What he lacks after the horror show of the previous dose of the drug, is any motivation to try and stop him at all.  
  
“Alright,” Steve says as Bucky gets his sights on him. He turns and presses himself against the wall, splays his hands against it, wishing there were some grooves or nooks he could hook his fingers into, laying his cheek against the cool surface and silently begging Bucky to go easy on him. He’s not healing as fast anymore and this is gonna hurt enough as it is. He jumps a little when hands reach him, sliding down his waist, roughly tugging his hips outward, nails trying to drag his clothes out of the way. A final damning sound of tearing material and Steve knows the pants are not going to stay on him after this time as they drop to his knees instantly. It’s not the nakedness that leaves him feeling exposed and vulnerable, it’s the disgusting mess of dried blood, sweat and cum that’s stuck all over his ass. With each new addition of the fluids, it only becomes more and more brutal and gruesome when Bucky pushes into him.  
  
The heated pressure that he’s come to expect from this returns and while his cock has yet to get hard from the sensation, internally he can feel it’s having an effect. He tries to breathe carefully through it, keep his muscles as relaxed as he can. It’s usually enough to keep everything at bay long enough for Bucky to cum before it’s able to lead to anything that Steve couldn’t bear. This time things feel different, feel _more_ and Bucky is pounding away like he’s nowhere near completion, each thrust catching him just right and keeping that pressure climbing steadily. Steve tries to shift his position a few times, even just enough to get that angle just a little off target but all it gets him is a sharp tug of his hips from Bucky and he’s back to where he started. It grows intense to the point that Steve really does start to fear it’s going to happen this time.  
  
“Buck,” he gasps. “Please just go a little easier._ Please._  
  
Nothing.  
  
A strange sensation in his balls makes him freeze, muscles tensing. His balls tighten as if nearing orgasm but not accompanied with the usual sharp sting of pleasure that he’s used to. His cock twitches but doesn’t grow hard and he lets out an urgent sound when it twitches again, this time followed by a dribble of wet and then another, running down the shaft of his cock to drip from his balls and into his underwear, still hitched halfway down his thighs. The immediate horrific thought is that he’s pissing himself but each twitch comes from just behind his balls and it confirms to him what this is. It’s not an orgasm but it’s still ejaculation and the irony of it should make him laugh. He’s been fearing the former when the latter could happen separately anyway. And what difference does it make if he felt the pleasure of it or not? The evidence is still there. His shame now soaking into his underwear, to soon cool and dry and add a whole new aspect of disgust for him to try to ignore. His shoulders droop and he hangs his head, the burn in his cheeks so furious, it spreads down to his chest, makes his whole core feel hot and wrong. He gives up.  
  
When Bucky’s hips hump up hard one final time with an all too familiar groan and pulls out of him, Steve lets himself drop to the side and lays on the ground, curls himself into a ball and lets his mind fall numb, the exposure of his ass and upper thighs not even reaching his conscience anymore. He doesn’t move when he feels Bucky come and sit by him later but he doesn’t stop him from pulling his head into his lap and stroking his hair. He sleeps until the next time the agents return with a fresh needle.  
  
...

  
  
They stop talking in between the drugged periods, it becomes a pattern of fucking and sleeping against each other with little else in between. Starved of both food and water since they were brought here, Steve’s energy levels plummet until he can barely stay conscious while getting fucked, doing little more than sleeping the rest of the time anyway. Bucky fares better physically with whatever energy the drug provides him but mentally, he’s just as beat down. Steve knows Bucky had started to give in long before he did and really, Bucky knows the horrific capabilities of Hydra in a much more intimate way than Steve does so it shouldn’t even really surprise him.  
  
Bucky’s fidgeting gets worse. Steve’s really starting to become convinced that Bucky is going to break soon, with the way this seems to be eating at him. Steve says nothing as Bucky silently shifts their position so Steve doesn’t have to feel him get hard for gradually increasing amounts of time before the return of the agents. It would be funny if it wasn’t so fucking awful but Steve appreciates the gesture anyway.  
  
It’s the unhappy noises that Bucky makes the next time he’s pulling out of him that Steve knows things are getting bad for Bucky. Steve’s on the ground, sweating forehead pressed to the unforgivingly cold cement, trying to breathe through the raw, stinging burn in his ass. Bucky’s thrusts were rough this time, an extra rage or frustration in his movements, Steve’s not sure which but he took it as best he could, still unable to keep the smaller groans and whimpers of pain from escaping his throat. He can feel the blood running gently down his thighs.  
  
“Steve.” Bucky’s voice is dark, panicked. “It’s not-it’s not going away.”  
  
Steve’s not quite sure what he means until he summons up the willingness to lift his head to look and he’s able to make out that Bucky is still hard. He quite often gets hard again at some point while the last remnants of the drug work their way out of his system but this feels different, it’s never this soon and Bucky hasn’t settled and relaxed as he usually does when he’s gained his control back, hasn’t softened at all in-between. Steve can see the lines of tension in his neck, the agitation in his pacing, the hunger that hasn’t left his expression as Bucky’s eyes pause on Steve again and oh. The realisation gets Steve like a punch to the chest as he watches Bucky wrack at his own head and claw down his face. It’s not his erection that Bucky is trying to tell him won’t go away.  
  
_Fuck._  
  
This one’s really gonna hurt.  
  
“Okay, wait just a sec, alright?” Steve tries to get up to his knees when Bucky takes slow, helpless steps towards him again, stroking his consistently hard cock. His mind can’t even dwell on the knowledge of where that cock has been, where the blood coating it has come from as he frantically tries to find a way out of what’s coming. “Use my mouth instead, I can’t take-”  
  
Bucky pushes him backwards to fall onto his elbows and parts Steve’s thighs to situate himself between them and line himself up again. Steve panics.  
  
“Buck, fuck, no okay, let me lay on my stomach at least-_fuck!_” Bucky’s already pushing inside him again and it’s only a matter of minutes before Steve is weeping freely, unable to hold the evidence of his agony back. He shuts his eyes tight. He can’t look, doesn’t want to see. The thrusts are sharp, agitated. Steve is sore, he knows he’s bleeding but the hard burn of the friction is too much. Everything he knows is just pain, it’s all he can feel, all he can think. He should almost feel glad when a sound pulls him from his own pain for just a moment, except that the sound is pained, not the usual pleasured moans and not coming from his own mouth. Still, it’s unusual enough to catch him unexpectedly and his eyes crack open before he can reason against it. His sights land on the face of the man thrusting up into him and he wishes to god he’d had his wits about him to keep them closed. It’s worse than he even had in him to fear.  
  
Bucky’s eyes are not unrecognising or uncaring, no dead, empty stare of the soldier, those eyes know exactly who they’re looking down at and the agony and horror and shame that fills them only tells Steve that things are different this time. It renews Steve’s tears to look back into them but he finds that he can’t look away now that he has. He brings up a hand and touches Bucky’s cheek.  
  
“It’s alright,” he whispers, breathless. “It’s okay, Bucky.” He keeps repeating it, hopes to hell that Bucky can comprehend that he understands, that there’s no blame in him for what’s happening and when a tear runs down Bucky’s cheek, he catches it with his thumb and thinks that maybe he does.  
  
Bucky picks up the pace and cums a few short moments later with a raw, wounded sound and Steve dares to believe that this one was enough, the way Bucky sinks forward, muscles finally relaxing the tension leaving his body. Steve pushes fingers into his hair, cradles Bucky’s head against his neck, holds him close and mutters almost deliriously at him.  
  
...  
  
Steve wishes they’d just give up, move onto something else, _anything_ else, realise neither of them are going to break with their best friend, no matter what they make them do to each other.  
  
He wishes that were actually true, too.  
  
Instead, Steve is certain they start visiting more frequently, each time drugging Bucky and leaving him to attack Steve again and again. He frequently passes out during these periods now, able to cling onto consciousness through it before, Steve’s body simply gives out most of the time, now. He’s visibly starting to waste away, his muscle mass dwindling as his body eats away at it, desperately trying to keep him alive. Bucky is experiencing the same. Despite this, he doesn’t think that they will die soon if something doesn’t change, he’s certain that both of their bodies can hold out for far longer under this strain than the average human could and that they will both suffer so much worse than this before it will all be over, not that Hydra would let them reach that point anyway. And _that_ scares him so much more.  
  
Steve can feel himself getting close to breaking. Each time they return, Steve doesn’t move or speak but he’s starting to want to, the urge to open his mouth and give in growing stronger. Bucky does little more than snarl and weakly protest as they pin him down and Steve wonders if he’s getting those same urges. They all know he hasn’t the strength to take them on like this, neither of them do.  
  
“It’s much easier to give in to us, you know,” the agent says, stooping down next to Steve with an air of false sympathy in his voice. “It doesn’t have to hurt, it’s only training, you already know how to fight, it will be easier than this.”  
  
“You wouldn’t even have to remember this,” another agent pipes up, Bucky struggling helplessly at the mention of the chair, agents shoving him to the ground and holding him in place to get the needle into his flesh arm, their usual ritual.  
  
“Would that not be preferable?” The agent tuts. “We can take all this away, neither of you need know this ever happened, we can make it disappear.”  
  
Steve doesn’t speak, doesn’t lift his head. He hasn’t got it in him to entertain the idle talk anymore. Even that’s probably a positive response to the agent but Steve doesn’t care, he just closes his eyes and waits for the noise to stop and the pain to start. At least it’s becoming more distant now, as his mind grows less able to stay present, it means not being as aware of his surroundings and less able to feel what’s done to him. It feels increasingly inviting to stay down in that place, numb and switched off to it all. It’s more comfortable.  
  
The sounds of snapping, of metal piercing flesh, of pained heaves and dropping weight don’t even register to Steve until the ringing of bullets finally make him flinch and curl tighter in on himself in more of a bodily instinct than a conscious decision.  
  
“_What the fuck!_”  
  
“I got eyes on Rogers.”  
  
“Holy shi-”  
  
“Get something to cover him.”  
  
“Barnes! Easy it’s us.”  
  
“Steve, Steve you with us?”  
  
“Jesus, let’s get them the hell outta here.”  
  
“What the hell is up with Barnes?”  
  
“I’m sorry sir, he keeps struggling.”  
  
“Bucky, relax!”  
  
Steve feels something being draped over him and then the ground disappears from beneath him. He tries to lift his head to look around but the sudden movements make him dizzy and he blacks out.  
  
...  
  
Words he can’t really process ring around his ears but it’s the smell that makes him stir properly. Clean, metal, engines and other people, it smells ridiculous after only breathing in dank, warm, moist, musty air for god knows how long. He’s instantly aware that he’s somewhere different.  
  
“...can’t be telling me that Barnes _caused_ this...”  
  
“I think he did.”  
  
“...why hasn’t he just healed?”  
  
“...uh, guys?”  
  
“...extreme starvation...”  
  
“Guys.”  
  
The voices cease and Steve feels eyes on him, which is confirmed when he blinks a firmly a few times before fully opening his eyes to find Clint sitting at the end of his bed. Steve tries to sit up.  
  
“Whoa there, Cap. Let’s just take it easy, huh?”  
  
“Bucky,” Steve forces out. “Where is he? Is he-”  
  
“We got him out, too,” Clint tells him. “He’s a little...agitated at the moment.”  
  
“S’not his fault. They-they gave him something.”  
  
“We know but until he’s safe to be around-”  
  
“What did you do?”  
  
“He wouldn’t stop fighting to get to you, he had to be restrained.”  
  
“I gotta see him, you don’t understand-”  
  
“Steve, you need to lay back down. You’re exhausted, you’re dehydrated. Barnes is contained, he’s fine.”  
  
“It hurts him if he can’t-you gotta put me in with him.”  
  
“Not a fucking chance, Steve. Do you know what he’s done to you?”  
  
“It wasn’t him, he wasn’t himself, it _hurts him._”  
  
“Okay, we’ll see what we can do but you gotta calm down.”  
  
Steve stops trying to get up from the bed. Natasha straightens up the drip attached to his arm that he almost pulled over. Some doctors come in and make everyone leave, telling Steve that they need to examine him properly now that he’s awake.  
  
It’s humiliating and it’s intrusive, each sore touch and prod as they try to gently clean around the worst of the damage and apply salves and ointments to aid healing. Steve grits his teeth and tries not to tremble through every moment of it. Every question they ask about what happened and if he can feel pain at any external, or even some internal areas they press, it sounds so accusatory towards Bucky. He knows that’s not how it’s meant but every wince, every answer he gives sounds so condemning. By the time they’re done and the others are allowed to come back in, the others being Clint, Natasha, Sam and Bruce, Steve is feeling more than frustrated, he’s impatient and urgent. He feels like his temper is a fine wire being pulled taut to its limit, that the slightest added pressure could be enough to make him snap.  
  
“Bucky.”  
  
“They tried, Steve. They sent someone in to...help him,” Bruce says stiffly. Steve’s eyes draw to him expectantly waiting for him to continue. “He broke some of the restraints and bit the guy in the attempt to get at him.”  
  
Jesus.  
  
“Just let me see him.”  
  
“You’re in no condition,” Bruce says carefully. Apparently playing doctor for him, Steve guesses because he’s familiar with him and trusts him. “The-the _damage_ isn’t healing because of the malnourishment. We’ve got you on fluids but you need to eat so your body can start to heal itself. After that, you can see him. You couldn’t possibly be any good to him like this, anyway.”  
  
It’s not long before food is brought. Meat, vegetables, potatoes and a glass of milk. All the basics. The portion size is what would be expected for an average human but after however long he’s gone without food, he has to start small. It’s not until after he’s eaten that anyone will talk to him about what happened. His hands shake with every forkful he lifts to his mouth and it takes him frustratingly longer to eat than usual.  
  
“Have they fed him?” Steve asks, finishing off the milk and pushing the empty plate away impatiently.  
  
“They can’t get a response from him in this state,” Bruce tells him softly. “They will want to get some food in him as soon as they can get him coherent. Do you know what they’ve given him?”  
  
Steve tries to explain what he knows about the drug but focussing is difficult. His mind doesn’t want to revisit those memories just yet but he knows he might be able to provide something to help Bucky. Some of the others start to squirm a little uncomfortably when he tries to describe what it makes him do. There’s no illusions between any of them why Bucky was given this with only Steve around. Or where Steve got his specific injuries. Their discomfort is enough to make Steve falter and he’s thankful when Natasha makes the call to usher everyone out except Bruce, then Sam at Steve’s request. Sam pulls up a chair by the side of Steve’s bed and places a comforting hand on his forearm.  
  
“I’m fine,” Steve insists, despite not being asked. He shakes his head at their sympathetic glances. “Bucky...”  
  
“Do you have any idea how long it takes to wear off?” Bruce asks.  
  
Steve hesitates. “They restrained him once, too. It took longer to wear off.” Steve doesn’t mean to but he can’t help glaring at Bruce when he says that. Bruce’s mouth tightens and he looks down at his hands and then back up with a softer, more schooled expression.  
  
“The doctors will do what they can to make this as painless for him as possible but you know that’s not an option. Don’t ask me to compromise when my hands are tied.”  
  
Steve doesn’t respond, doesn’t look directly at Bruce and it’s a few uncomfortable moments before Bruce stops twisting his hands together and gets to his feet to excuse himself. Sam sets up his phone so Steve can have some music, just something to take away from the drowning silence.  
  
“I know you probably don’t wanna talk about it,” Sam says at length.  
  
“You’re right, I don’t.”  
  
“You know they’ll insist you talk to someone before they sign you off for missions,” Sam warns but Steve sets his jaw and simply glares ahead of himself until Sam lets it drop. “Well if there’s anything you _do_ want, I can-”  
  
“I wanna see Bucky.”  
  
Sam sighs but his expression is understanding. Steve feels a twang of guilt for being snappy with him, he knows Sam is just as tied up as Bruce and that he’s just trying to help.  
  
“Sorry,” Steve mutters with his own sigh and Sam raises a hand to wave it off. “I’d really like to shower.”  
  
“Now that I can do. I’ll set it up.” Steve can tell Sam is trying to remain casual, keep things feeling as close to normal as he can but the tight line of his mouth keeps betraying him, the worry in his eyes not helping. “Will you need any help?”  
  
“No.”

  
  
...  
  
He makes the shower as hot as he can stand and spends ages all but scrubbing his skin raw, every speck of dirt and grit, the tackiness of the grime and sweat that all clings to his skin. The dried crust of old blood and _other_ fluids that remains on the back of his thighs. The hot water makes him hiss when it reaches damaged skin and he sinks his teeth into his lip not to lose his resolve. He knows Sam will be camped right outside the door in case Steve should need him for any reason, there’s no true privacy here, not yet.  
  
Natasha told him they’d been missing for almost two weeks and he could barely believe it. Two weeks without food, water or natural sunlight. Time had ceased to exist, every time they’d shut off the lights, he’d come to assume another day had passed when it hadn’t and made the days in there feel like a life time.  
  
It feels good to brush his teeth and comb his hair after, to shave his face smooth, towel himself dry and feel clean and unsoiled. He hates that it feels that way. _Soiled._ This is Bucky, _his_ Bucky. The remnants of his touch in any way should not leave him feeling disgusted. Cleaning his wounds after his fight with Bucky on the helicarriers, before he was able to break through Bucky’s programming, even that hadn’t disgusted him and Bucky had been trying to _kill_ him. What happened here wasn’t even willing and yet every thought of how Bucky marred his body leaves his skin prickling sickeningly.  
  
He opens the door and exits the bathroom at a gentle knock. Sam pointedly takes in the gush of steam that leaves the room with him but makes no comment on it. He shifts to the side so Steve can see Natasha standing in the doorway to his medical room.  
  
“Barnes is back with us. He’s asking for you.”  
  
...  
  
The room they have Bucky in is exactly like the one he woke up in. The bed is reinforced to allow effective restraints which remain on Bucky’s wrists and upper arms, doubled on his mechanical arm.  
  
The first thing that hits him is the smell and he pauses for a beat and closes his eyes until he can work out how to mask his face better. Days of sweat, sex, blood, filth, _bodies._ He couldn’t spot it before he was allowed to get himself clean but he must have smelled like this, too. How any of them stayed in the room with him...  
  
Steve finally opens his eyes and takes in the sight of him, quickly sobering from his response to the smell. The terrible lighting in that dank old room had stopped him from being able to see what is now almost highlighted under the bright light of this room. The sweat, the grime and dirt tarnishing his skin, not yet having been allowed to remove the restraints to even request cleaning himself. The lines of his starved face gaunt, his eyes dull and lifeless. And yet, the very first thing he asked of them once he’d come around from the drug is not to clean himself, to eat or anything else he’d been withheld from just as long as Steve had. Instead, his first request had been for them to bring Steve to him. He no doubt heard Steve enter the room but he’s not looking at him, eyes down towards his own chest. His breathing still more laboured than it should be at rest but he’s let them attach an IV to his arm so the drug has worn off enough.  
  
When Steve speaks, his voice gives almost nothing and the sound comes out as a dry, croaking whisper. “Buck.”  
  
Heavy bagged eyes come up to look at him and immediately close, bottom lip trembling. His pinned arm twitches, hand wanting to reach for him and Steve is by his side in an instant, details of the sight and smell of him forgotten in the moment. It only takes pressing a firm hand to his shoulder before Bucky crumbles, releasing a shaky exhale and turning his face in towards Steve. He leans forward so Bucky can press his face against him and brings his own head down to press his cheek against greasy, ratty hair, not having it in him to care about anything but the man under his touch.  
  
They don’t move for ages, Steve half perched on the side of Bucky’s bed, fully embraced, neither willing to let go of the other. The sound of footsteps that stop in the doorway aren’t enough to part them and when Natasha’s voice reaches their ears, informing them that the doctors want to examine Bucky so that he can also eat and clean himself, Bucky only clings tighter to Steve and presses his face deeper into the crook of his neck, whispering “please don’t leave.”  
  
The doctors don’t argue when Steve looks at them straight and tells them he’s not leaving Bucky’s side.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! Chapter 2 coming asap! Thank you to Buckybleeds for providing all the arts!! You can view and interract with a full post containing those arts [here](https://buckybleeds.tumblr.com/post/188751215406/art-for-scrapeourshoesonthestars)  
and [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21275099)


End file.
